19 November 2009

Pilgrims, Precious Gift, and Pumpkin Pie


Dateline: T's Classroom.

Continent: North America

Country: USA

Why: Thanksgiving

What: Gratitude Bowl.
Introduced our family tradition of naming something you are grateful for, writing it down, and placing it in the gratitude bowl. We read these before meals during this season of the Great Feast.

What they said:
"I'm thankful for my Mom giving me money when I clean up my room."
"I'm thankful for hockey."
"I'm thankful for Max."

What we said:
Native Americans were the first Americans to greet the Pilgrims. Lloyd read his illustrator-sister, Woodleigh's book (The Precious Gift). Navaho myth that kept the children entertained and amazingly attentive. I sliced thick, velvety pumpkin pie and delicately placed tiny slices on small plates with sporks. Wished my camera was completely silent so I could take more photos. Put the camera down in the name of no distractions.

What they left:
Not a crumb.
Smiles.
Pleas for "seconds."

We left:
Giving thanks for the children in our midst. All of them. These little beings keep us in the present. Each is truly, a Precious Gift.


30 October 2009

Rain, Rain Go Away

Don't you know it's party day?

Preparations



Ingredients

Show time!

27 kids, 36 cupcakes, 64 slices of pizza = 1 hugely happy halloweeny crowd.

11 October 2009

Out of the [eyes] of babes...

Today was one of those memory book days...the beauty of fall in the blue of the sky, the pleasant chill in the air, and the unbelievable color of leaves lining every path. And, of course, the requisite pumpkin patch.

But you will not see in this post orange rows of over-sized pumpkins with little lads propped up on them...save that one (you know its coming) for another day. No, this is about the photos I didn't take.

When it came time to use the pumpkin-patch-port-a-potties, I did a double-take at my dangling camera...do I really want to risk this baby in the over-used toilet shack? No, better to risk it in the hands of my beloveds. So L went on a photo spree while I was busy practicing Mama Preach: For the love of God, Don't touch anything in there...all the while wishing I had a gallon of Purell in my backpack.

When I emerged from the green plastic vault, I took an overdue inhale. Looking like a Superfund site that refused to be fully contained, the ports were a popular docking station for young and old alike visiting the patch. Ye ol' necessary evil for any serious patch visitor. And there was L...happpily snapping away at all the goings-on in and around the ports.

L was handling my wide angle lens like a little pro. I was so impressed with what he took. I could not believe how level all his shots were. Especially considering this camera around his neck was like a 50 pound sack of gourds around ours!

It was such a great reminder about seeing the world through their eyes, their perspective, and their height. Never in a million patch outings would it have interested me to photograph these "portable sinks" that go with the "portable potties" like he did.

But at his height, they are strangely cool. It was so neat for me to view a little portion of our day through his vantage. Especially when you think about just how much kids are told to wash their hands these days. The Swine, damnit, the Swine. Get under your finger nails, Billy Bob.

Of course, siblings being siblings....T had to have a try once I got out. He needed a little bit of help to support the lens.

I promptly forgot about their photo sprees until I downloaded the card onto my computer. I instantly recognized a face, but simultaneously observed an expression that I didn'trecognize...even though I've shot him a thousand times too many to count.

Here are T's shots of his brother. L's face is decidedly a face just for bro...expressions, sentiments, and sauciness reserved just for him...certainly not for Mama.


I call this one: "Who's your Big Bad Brother?"

Looks like there's soon to be more cameras in da haus. Oy!

09 October 2009

Tall as...





...the red fire hydrant on the corner of our street.

Happy as...



the autumn breezes that we greet.

Light as...



sprinkles on an October day.

Sweet as...



a tiny pink bow of Love that came to stay.







07 October 2009

Scale


Scale...photography principals deepen my parenting with both patience and perspective.


06 October 2009

Post-script


Yesterday I wrote about my first-grader and his hopes that were dashed of lunching with Mr. Principal following the school's fundraiser.

As Gomer Pyle would say, "Surprise, surprise, surprise!"

I wrote a note to Mr. Principal suggesting that next year they should consider putting things (the almighty prize credits, for instance) into a handout for the younger grades to take home when the fundraiser arrives...lest another lad (or lassie's) stroll down Paul Harvey Lane, which meanders a bit before curving a slight right, and eventually landing on Disappointment Alley. Of course, it is not that I don't simply adore midnight shopping for wrapping paper and lavender-scented travel accessories that will sit in the closet for the next decade...or purchasing chocolates well-intended as gifts that will no doubt end up along my waistline for same decade. Heavens, NO! It's all in the name of school support, of course! I treasure those opportunities to learn what cello bags are, in fact, and look forward to our 16 packets of Cocoa Amore gourmet flavors and my Think It, Ink It sketch pad.

Much to my surprise, however, Mr. Principal said that despite the fact that we are not home to Top Seller, that he does like to eat lunch with the students as often as he can and that (drum roll), our L. would be welcome to bring a friend and join him for lunch someday...unrelated to the fundraiser, of course. OF COURSE!

Well you know it--we're dancin' in our rainboots today, folks! Dancin' and a howlin' with the blustery winds...thank you, Mr. Principal, thank you!!!!




05 October 2009

"Honey, I shrunk the checkbook"



My first-grader came home with a skip in his step on the first day of the school's fundraiser. "I get to have lunch with the Principal if I sell 15 things." How adorable, I thought! I wondered at what age lunching with the Principal was seen as un-cool or punitive, and celebrated his eager little spirit.

"I have to sell stuff, Mom!" Dutifully, I sent out the mass spam that asked family and close friends to purchase chocolates or gift wrap for my beloved's goal. I felt a weird stitch...do I really want to encourage my 6-year-old down the capitalist lane already? Do I want to burden him with real-world concerns of sales and point counting? Can I hit "send" and still have my friends look at me with the same cyber eye again? Ahh well, I thought...afterall, it is lunch with the big man on campus that he's after. Send.

The night before the sale ended, I felt content that he had earned enough sales for the coveted lunch. Then the late-night call came in from Grandma. Wait a minute, 15 sales? The whole school would be having lunch with Mr. P we both realized at once! He must have heard it wrong...it must have been fifty sales.

Late night email attempts to the fundraising chief and PTA Prez yielded no results. Well, is it 15 or 50? I couldn't risk it...this was like watching empty stockings hang on the mantle on December 24th, hoping the mail carrier might fill them. There was only one thing to do in this situation. So back to EZ Order I went.

One fell swoop in Momdom, I went from peering at the catalog with a free-enterprise-sneer to looking for a-n-y-thing I could possibly order to rack up the prize credits. With a little luck, I just might be one of those "Mercedes Smart Car Instant Winners." Lunch for him, a new car for me. That'll work.

One day I had been rolling my eyes at the slick catalog filled with Tar-jay-esque
gift bags and boxes of truffles. Now I sat scrolling the on-line version of the same, debating over over silver embossed or the silver flat wrapping paper. I found myself subscribing to magazines I knew I'd never read, and getting my 3 year-old who can't read some of his own. Bring on the peanut brittle and cashews...almond cluster gift boxes and teacher notepads. Chocolate Stars of David? Multi-cultural treat, I'll take two. Good Lord, yes, even the garden flag and crock pot cookbook. Too bad all crock pots nowadays have lead in them, better order the 50 Recycling Ideas spiral-bound primer to break even on my Eco-conscious on that one.

I bid adieu to EZ Order, and it bid me free shipping and an order confirmation. I tucked myself in with the sweet assurdeness of The Lunch secured. Or so I thought.

Monday morning newsflash. Turns out that The Lunch is given to only the top-seller at the entire school. Of that, I am sure, he is not. And so with gentle tone and perhaps a wrapped chocolate of my own in hand, I will explain Paul Harvey's "rest of the story" to L. when he comes home from school today.

Quite the disappointment. But at least we will have no lack of mediocre chocolate, gift tags, and tissue paper in da house.



03 October 2009

The arrival




Maybe it is because I grew up on a sailboat in south Florida. Maybe it is because we eventually moved onto land when I entered middle school...to a house with no air conditioning. Maybe it is because I had no choice but to live through blazing Texas summers for 15 years.

Whatever the cause might be, I am simply in awe here in Chicagoland when the leaves begin to fall, the weather becomes brisk, and the seasons turn once again like a fragile, pink ballerina that I once had on a jewelry box. When I opened it with my little hands, a simple tune would play and she would slowly turn around in a circle with her pointed toes and outstretched arms. She was magical.

And so, the turning of the seasons round and round again, like my treasured ballerina each time I opened my special box, is simply that: magical.



17 August 2009

"A something in a summer's Day..."

A something in a summer’s noon —
A depth — an Azure — a perfume —
Emily Dickinson














09 July 2009

July


Lil' Firecracker runs through lush, damp grass
While Captain Steubing sorts our tickets
To the Wrigley of our backyard bases
Where every hit's a homer
And every runner's safe











20 June 2009